Breath of the Immortal
A story of Lies, Lust, Manipulation, and Deceit
Chapter 1
The plague some called it; a curse was other’s cry. But with every explanation, the gypsy clan was blamed. They were hunted down like cattle, slaughtered while they slept or driven from their homes, making them more nomadic than they should have been. France was their home, and their leader refused to become an exile, banished for a crime they did not commit. Unfortunately for the clan, their fate rested on a mystery that was wrapped in a cloud of deception, manipulation, lust and vengeance.
“Something has to be done before our entire clan is killed by the hands of these hunters!” Tiana exclaimed as she sat listening to the incessant jabbering of her gypsy council.
“But how can we stop whatever is killing them when we ourselves do not even know what it is? Our gypsy magick is no match for whatever takes lives before the daylight hour!” Rogar, the council ‘leader’, replied to her.
“I will go into town--.”
“You will not! Your father did not put you where you are for you to put your life in danger chasing this killer of the night!” Lel, a friend of many years, cried out in protest.
“I will not let our clan die of unjust cause!”
“Let us handle the situation, Tiana! Only we are strong enough to fight this thing! You will just get yourself killed and then this clan will be without a leader!”
“Tiana, Lel is right,” Rogar agreed. “It’s much too dangerous for you to go walking about in the night unarmed and unescorted. Word has it this thing, whatever it is, is more likely to attack unsuspecting women.” Tiana turned away in defeat. Her council had spoken, and even though she was the leader of the clan by family name only, she did not feel any comfort in knowing her own council did not support her wishes.
* * * * *
As nightfall fell upon the land, an eerie stillness caught the air. Tiana crept silently through the glen into the village, so as not to be seen by anyone, clansman or foe. Tonight, contrary to others, the village was exceptionally quiet and empty. There was no noise from the local taverns, any infant cries, any quarrels or raised voices from inside closed-up homes. She stumbled along the cobble streets, looking for any sign of life, but she found none.
A voice from the shadows startled her and she froze where she stood. “You are gypsy woman, no?” The voice was low, deep and heavily accented to match the French countryside. The figure the voice belonged to stepped out of the shadows of an alley and into the light of the streetlamp. He was a man of great stature, most likely wealthy from his long woolen overcoat. His eyes, she noticed almost instantly, were gray in the light and seemed to pierce right through her to her soul.
Without allowing her to answer, for she had somehow lost her voice, he continued. “Your eyes, moncherrie, are that of a gypsy woman. I know those eyes very well.”
“Do you have a name?” she finally found her voice and spoke softly into the night air.
“My name is Didier.”
“Didier,” she breathed, and he was gone, disappearing before she could ask him anything.
“Gypsy! Get her! Kill her!” people began to shout from behind her. They came from nowhere and entered her world of silence too quickly for her to react, or get away. As they encircled her, fear gripped her entire body and she couldn’t move.
Didier was next to her then, appearing quicker than he had disappeared. “If you want to stay alive, follow me,” he whispered and grabbed her hand. His hand was cold, much colder than she had expected it to be. When they finally came upon a lone estate deep in the woods, he let go of her hand and turned to face her again.
“It is up to you if you wish to stay,” he said curtly. “It is almost time for me to retire for the evening. If you think it is safe, by all means find your way home.” He was about to walk away from her but then quickly added under his breath, “I’m quite sure your gypsy spirits will guide you there.”
“Wait,” she replied, but this time he did not turn around to face her. “I have a few questions before we part ways.”
Damn her! his mind screamed. “Very well.” As they entered the estate, she was greeted with beautifully decorated rooms all aglow with candlelight. She followed close behind him into the dining hall- complete with a long dining table, exquisitely carved with ornate designs, with seating for twelve. This man, she confirmed, was most certainly wealthier than the villagers who had tried to kill her.
“Sit,” he demanded. “My servant will be in shortly to attend to you. I will return in due time.”
Tiana was left in silence to survey her surroundings more delicately. Every piece of furniture, right down to the armrests and table legs was ornately carved. The mantle and burning fire was even more inviting. When his servant came into the room, she was even exceptionally dressed! She set a glass on the table and poured the wine- sweet red wine, perfectly aged to perfection.
No sooner had she reached for the glass and put it to her lips, Didier returned. “I assume you have a name as well?”
“Tiana,” she spoke after taking a drink. That was all she could say. Their eyes locked and she was lost causing her to blush.
“I assume you have not met many gypsies then,” she tried to protest, taking another sip.
“Believe me moncherrie, I have met my fair share of gypsies, moncherrie! Most of which I wish to forget!”
“Why do you save my life, give me wine, and then insult my race?!”
“Because it was a gypsy who cursed me for all eternity!” he spat.
“You have no right to leash your venom on me, monsieur! If you’ll excuse me, thank you for the wine, but I must be leaving!”
“Very well, leave!” But as she attempted to walk away, her body felt heavy and her knees gave out from under her. Her head hurt and she fell down, lying unconscious on the floor. “If you can!” Didier added, picking up her limp body and carrying her to a guest room upstairs.
* * * * *
Tiana awoke the next afternoon in her own hut, in her own bed. She had no idea how she got there or why her head hurt so much. She groaned as she tried to sit up and was hit with a shocking pain through her entire body. Rogar came into the hut with a bowl of warm water and lavender and a washcloth. She only half heard his words.
“You gave us quite a scare, child,” he said, placing the bowl next to her bed.
“What happened?” she asked, trying to get up again.
“Lie back down, child. You’ve had a hard hit on the head.” Rogar took the washcloth and laid it out over her forehead, allowing the smell of lavender to fill her lungs and ease the pain.
“I’ll tell you what happened!” Lel exclaimed from the entranceway of her hut.
Rogar winced and rolled his eyes. “Lel please let me handle this.”
“No, Rogar! It’s time she took responsibility for her actions! She is the ‘leader’ of this clan, after all!”
“Lel, please,” Rogar pleaded but it was too late. Lel had already begun his tirade.
“Tiana!” he said sternly, ignoring Rogar completely. “What were you thinking going into the village alone?!”
“I wanted to get some answers,” she argued through the pain, again trying to get up but meeting opposition in Rogar’s glare.
“You are lucky we found you when we did or else you would have been dead as well!”
“I was in a house, an estate. A man saved me from them,” she stuttered.
“Lie back down, child,” Rogar soothed. “You got hit on the head pretty badly. Lel, it’s best if you leave.”
“No! Tiana, listen to me! On your way to the village you were attacked. We found you this morning in the woods, lying unconscious. Do you remember anything that may help us find out who did this?”
She shook her head, still in pain. “I remember only that a man saved me and took me to his estate.”
“Where is this estate?” Lel pushed further. “Can you remember what it looked like or how you got there?”
“Through the glen-- I don’t remember much.”
“Rogar,” he demanded, “stay with her. We need to find this man, whoever he is, and bring him to council. If he laid one hand on her, I’ll--!”
“Lel, stop this! You can’t just go and avenge this! Go down to the river and cool off!”
“I warn you, old man, don’t come between me and my vengeance!”
“Your vengeance will get you killed someday!”
“I need to go back,” Tiana spoke, interrupting their quarrel.
“Yes, that’s right, you need to go back!” Lel exclaimed, jubilant when an idea hit his head. “Can you show us where you think you were ‘taken’?” Before Tiana could answer, though, she had again drifted out of consciousness.
Images began to circle through her head, most of which had places she had never been to or people she didn’t know. When she awoke, Rogar and Lel were no longer there, but Didier stood at the edge of her bed, watching her. Again, he wore the same black cloak she had seen him in the evening before. As before, she caught a glimpse of the gray orbs that had once before captured her in a trance-like state.
“I wanted to speak to you again,” she said, unsure why she did not fear him.
“I know,” was his reply.
“Why do you speak so ill of gypsies yet you saved my life? Why do I dream things that I do not understand?” her mouth sputtered question after question.
“Just like your gypsy ways, I can read your thoughts and speak to you from your mind,” he replied with a smile.
“So then you are like us,” she replied.
“No, I am not, moncherrie. But what I know about gypsies surpasses even your innocent knowledge.”
There was a sudden deafening silence between them. He held her stare, trying to push thoughts and images into her mind, but as she held onto his gaze, she was unwilling to let them in. Soon, her eyes closed and she felt like her body was being lifted into the air, light as a feather. When she opened her eyes again, she looked down and gasped. Her body was lying peacefully on the bed, her arms folded over the clan’s sacred symbol of healing. Lel was seated next to her, his fist clenched in anger.
“I have the power to take your life away at any moment!” a voice whispered into the ear of her floating self. “Do not speak of me or anything I have shown you! I am far too powerful for you to contend with!”
“Then what is keeping you from ending my life now and sparing me from this torment?” she countered.
“Your friend looks upon you with a vengeance that runs red through his veins. I’d spare your life just to see what he is capable of!”
* * * * *
Tiana awoke from her ‘sleep’ the next morning feeling as if she had been struck down by a tree. Her head hurt, her body ached, and she was very weak. Lel came into her hut carrying a fresh bowl of warm water and lavender. He didn’t speak to her but the sight of him caused her to remember Didier’s words. Lel had a violent temper that would surely kill him, yet he was there, taking care of her as if nothing had happened.
“You are better I see?” was his only reply.
After washing her face, she replied, “I’m going down to the river. I don’t need an escort, so don’t bother following me.”
She got up and started to walk away, without hesitation, and without looking back. The wood spirits and sprites were out and playful as ever today, whispering in her ears, tugging at her skirt, and playing with her hair. She laughed aloud as she felt free and as young as a child, racing down to the water’s edge. The river ran smooth and calm and she felt its coolness as she waded in up to her calves.
“Water spirits!” she called aloud, arms out-stretched. “Hear me! Only you can guide our people! Guide us! Show us how to make peace with our fellow Frenchmen!”
She felt her head go dizzy and her body grow faint. Again images swirled around her head, this time more gruesome than before. The images were that of a beast ravaging whole towns, killing with a single strike to the neck. As this image faded, she heard screams- screams of the victims whose lives were being taken from them in a single bite.
Sheer terror took over her mind, making her body shiver. As before, he was there, this time holding her. His arms engulfed her body and she felt his warm breath near her, before she surrendered to unconsciousness.
“Why am I here?” she asked, finally opening her eyes wide to survey her surroundings. She lay in a very large canopy bed inside an even larger bedroom. Didier gave her no reply. “Why do you look at me so?”
“You do not fear me,” he finally replied.
“You never tell me what you are thinking!” she retorted.
“You can not handle my thoughts, moncherrie,” he replied.
“I can handle whatever it is you plague my mind!” she defended.
Didier knew she was lying, but he couldn’t risk getting too close to yet another gypsy. He could never entrust her with his secrets, yet every time she cried out for answers, he obliged. He’d plague her mind with images of pain and suffering she would never understand; every time her body grew weaker, Lel would come to her rescue, angry at an unknown source. He waited on baited breath for Lel’s anger to consume him and the true nature of his vengeance to emerge.